


What's Inside Your Heart

by finding_niamho



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mild Angst, Soulmate AU, baz is moody, cute bois, pretty colours, simon works in a sandwich shop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25227391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finding_niamho/pseuds/finding_niamho
Summary: Baz Pitch is feeling blue. That is until he meets the cute boy behind the counter in the sandwich shop...
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 15
Kudos: 77
Collections: Carry_On_Summer_Exchange_2020





	1. The Meeting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Morally_Ambiguous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morally_Ambiguous/gifts).



> This is my fic for the Carry On Exchange! Thanks so much to @sharing-a-room-with-an-open-fire for the writing (and emotional!) support with this one. 💖🐟

**BAZ**

My heart is blue. I’ve just woken up from another dream where it’s red, but looking down at it now I can see that it’s just a sad dull blue, beating slower and slower as I come back to reality. Taking a few deep breaths, I tell myself that it’s nothing to worry about. Everyone’s heart is blue sometimes. When I’m calm enough that it fades to pink, I get up to make some breakfast.

It’s a funny old world, I think as I crack some eggs into a pan. The yolk breaks and starts to spill everywhere. Drat! My heart flashes purple for a beat but settles down when the egg stops sizzling quite so loudly. If my heart went the same colour as the yolk, it would mean pure joy. It used to go yellow all the time when I was little. At that moment just before the roller coaster sped up, or the second I woke up on the morning of my birthday. It mostly stays pink now, which is...  _ fine _ , I guess. At least it’s not an angry orange or a frightened purple all the time like some people. And it only goes blue now and then when I find myself dreaming about it going red. About seeing someone’s red heart beating in time with mine. My heart will go red, though, only when I find my match.

My soulmate.

For now, it’s gone blue again. I sigh and turn back to the eggs.

  
  


**SIMON**

Orange. Purple. Green. Ooh, a yellow! Blue. Orange. Orange. Orange. I watch the colours of the commuters as they sweep past the glass front of the sandwich shop on their way to work. Businessmen yelling into phones (orange), parents (orange) dragging screaming children to school (blue) and one happy couple, their hearts beating red as roses, meandering along slowly holding hands. I catch the sneaky side glances of people at tables looking out of the window, their hearts going a cheerful yellow or an ugly shade of envious green. I look down, willing myself to stay a neutral pink. No such luck. A sea of blue floods my heart, washing me away with its waves. It would be nice, just for once, to see it turn red. When I was little, I used to get a red felt tip and try to colour it red in the hope that my soulmate would just turn up on my doorstep. My mum got well mad.

The clanging of a bell interrupts my thoughts as another customer comes in. I quickly scramble to clean up the counter - which is still peppered with flour - and then lean on it casually (or at least I  _ think _ I look casual). The amused pale yellow that greets me suggests otherwise.

“Hello,” says Pale Yellow. She’s tall, not bad looking, with green eyes and short brown hair. “I’d like a croissant, please.”

As she says it, she goes from yellow to red.

Red!

I look down excitedly, only to see... yellow. Replaced quickly by blue.

A man from the other end of the cafe yells and jumps up, spilling his coffee and knocking his chair to the floor. His eyes dart around the room, his red heart beating rapidly.

“Where are you?” he exclaims.

The woman whirls around. “I’m here!” Her voice breaks into joyful tears as she rushes towards the man and he sweeps her into his arms. It’s like something out of a fairytale. Or a really bad movie. “I’m right here,” she murmurs before they kiss. A few people start clapping, their hearts yellow. It is pretty amazing to witness, I guess. That instant connection and clarity. I can’t even imagine feeling that close and comfortable with someone so quickly. I’m slow to trust and my emotions are usually all jumbled and confused when it comes to other people. Seriously, watching me is like watching a strobe light show.

I can’t help the ugly, seething green that overtakes me as I watch them. What would it be like to feel like that? It’s a painful reminder that my window of the outside world and the inside of myself is so much narrower than I could possibly imagine. I can only dream of that soaring, fluttering feeling of your heart going red as your soul connects to your other persons’. I know it’s not the most important thing in the world, but I can’t help but feel like until I find my other half, I’ll be just that: a half. Floating around the universe by itself.

I try to go yellow, but the blue can’t help but come out as I take their order.

  
  


**BAZ**

On my way to work, I listen to music. Anything to drown out the world around me: the grey light that surrounds the sad old cars as they trundle down the road. The clouds that seem to float inches from people’s heads as they stare at the pavement or their phones, rushing to and fro. The tired, drab concrete buildings that squat along the sidelines, their shadows slicing into the weak sunlight that drifts its way through the dust. All of it is grey, grey, grey.

Except for the people. But they’re not much better. They are blue and orange and purple. A swirl of emotional colour that paints society’s sickness in a tearful mural, dots of dripping paint drowned out by the flaky grey mask that covers it.

I shake my head, telling myself not to be so melodramatic. Although it is a rainy Monday, so I guess that’s as good an excuse as any. My daily commute to the office consists of three zebra crossings, two underground trains and a sea of black umbrellas. Apart from this morning, there’s someone carrying a bright yellow one, which blasts loudly out among the crowd. That makes me smile, which stirs a flicker of yellow up inside me. It makes me feel warmer and drier, somehow. I skip to the next song and mouth the words as I cross the road.

By the time 1 p.m. rolls around, my feet are aching from running around and getting everyone coffee. Plus, I’m pretty sure I have a paper cut from all the files I’ve been passing around to various people. That’s the life of an intern, I guess. Niall says that I can take my lunch now so I hastily grab my bag and step into the cool air. I take a deep breath, savouring the way the outside fills my lungs. I’m most definitely breathing in a lot of pollution. This is London, after all. It’s pretty busy outside, so I’m probably not going to have time to queue up at Greggs and eat. I wander around for a bit, before stumbling on a sandwich shop I’ve seen but never been to before. There isn’t much of a queue, so I step inside.

A bell above the door rings to announce my arrival and I blink at how bright it is in here. It’s a cosy setup, with framed pictures of landscapes on the walls and squashy sofas around some of the tables instead of chairs. The barstools at some of the higher tables have brightly covered cushions on top of them and every table has a different patterned tablecloth. At the front of the queue, there’s a large counter with a glass display cabinet next to it. In the cabinet, there are sandwiches (as advertised), as well as a variety of pastries, muffins and scones. A freckled hand is currently reaching into the back of the cabinet to pluck a chocolate muffin from the middle shelf. When the hand retreats, I see that it belongs to an equally freckled boy in glasses. Behind those glasses, his blue eyes shine brightly as he animatedly converses with the customer he’s serving. His voice is rapid and excited as he bags the muffin and spins it between his fingers to close it with the ease of someone who’s done it a million times before.

“Have a nice day!” he calls to the lady as she leaves. Then he smiles and  _ wow _ .

His whole face seems to rearrange as his freckles shift along his cheeks. His eyes close slightly, but that just seems to make the blue even brighter as he beams. It’s almost blinding, so I look down, pretending to straighten my coat for a moment.

And gasp.

My heart is red.

  
  


**SIMON**

The lunchtime queue’s gone down a bit now. I wipe some flour off my hands while the customer walks away. The boy that steps up next it grinning, face flushed. I can’t help but smile back.

“Hi,” he says, and there’s weight behind it.

“Hi?” I answer, very confused about why he seems so happy to see me. Do we know each other? Then I notice his heart. Ah, he must be here with his soulmate. Good for him, I guess.

There’s a really awkward silence during which he just stares at me as if waiting for the penny to drop. So I stare back. He’s taller than me, with long black hair and dark grey eyes. His nose is pretty high on his face and he has these really sharp cheekbones. Like he was carved out of stone. This is coming from a guy who never really notices other people's cheekbones. And he’s still not saying anything! Can he even speak? Except he just said hi to me. Is he messing with me?

“D-do you... want anything?” I ask slowly. Damn, my stammer. He’s unnerving me, looking at me like that. Argh, what does he want? Please, please just order and go before I embarrass myself too much! Maybe he just needs some time to make up his mind?

He clears his throat, letting out a small “Um,” before pointing a finger at my chest. I’ve probably spilt something down my shirt. Brilliant. But then I look down at my heart.

My red heart, beating in time with his.

I can’t help the squeal that escapes me. “Oh my God, it’s you! Hi!”

“Hi,” he smiles back. “I’m Baz.”

“Simon.”

“Simon,” he says, and I like how my name sounds when it comes out of his mouth.

“Um,” I shuffle on my feet behind the counter, adjusting my already adjusted glasses on my face. “I close up at five. M-maybe you could meet me here a-at around, uh, half past? We could get to know each other?” I sound like a moron. And a robot. He’s going to think I’m not excited. I mean I am, but I’m also super nervous. And I have no clue what I’m doing. How are you  _ supposed _ to react to finding the love of your life?

“That sounds wonderful.” He glances at the display cabinet next to me. “Could I have one of those, please?” He’s pointing at the sour cherry scones. My favourite.

“Of course,  _ Baz _ .” I reach into the pile and pull out a big one. It smells delicious. When I go to hand it over, he’s reaching into his bag for his wallet. “Oh, don’t worry about that.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, this one’s on me.” I hand the bag over to him and our fingertips brush, just for a second. “Soulmate,” I add in a whisper.

His lips curl up at the word and I can’t help but think about what it would be like to kiss them. Maybe that will happen later. I can feel myself starting to blush. Wait, what does  _ he _ think is happening later? Oh no, by ‘get to know each other’ does he think that I mean-?

“See you later,” he says as he takes the bag and turns to walk away. “ _ Soulmate _ .”

Help.

  
  


**BAZ**

As soon as I’m out of sight of the sandwich shop, I start running. All the colours whirl around me, seemingly brighter than before. All the grey and the spots of other people and my heart beating red, red, red. I’ve never felt so alive. I realise I’m laughing, and I spread my arms out as if I’m trying to take flight. I rush past people milling about and a few of them give me very odd looks. I know I must look daft: a teenager running around like a child but wearing an adult’s suit. I don’t care. I’ve found him. I’ve found him and his name is Simon and he wears glasses on his freckled face and he stammers sometimes when he talks.

It’s not much that I know about him, but that’s what makes all this so exciting. These few facts feel so precious to me that I keep repeating them in my head because they’re  _ real _ and they’re  _ him _ . And because soon I’ll know more of him. I want to know everything, every part of him so that I can love them all. Because that’s what this all boils down to -  _ love _ . This is the person who I’m destined to fall in love with, and he with me.

I stop abruptly, my shoes squeaky on the pavement. It’s only four letters, but it feels a lot bigger than that. I’m only nineteen and this is a massive, huge deal. I always thought that I would have seen more of the world when this happened, done more, felt more. I thought that by then I would have stumbled across some clue as to how to deal with all this. I’ve never even kissed anyone. Has he? Sometimes people get with people who aren’t their soulmates, just in case they never find their one. What if we kiss and I’m terrible? What if we never even get to that stage because I find some way to mess it up before that?

I put my hands in my hair and take a breath. I picture Simon’s face, grinning at me and I allow myself a small smile. I have to tell myself that it’ll be okay. I can’t lose him when I’ve only just found him all because I’m worried about what he thinks. He’s only just met me, too. We’ll work this out. For now, I raise my head and walk back into the office. This is going to be a long afternoon.


	2. The Date

**SIMON**

I check the clock again. Ten to five. In ten minutes, my soulmate’s gonna walk through that door again and I’m nowhere near ready. My stomach’s in knots and I keep thinking that I’m gonna have to run out back and throw up. Then I’ll smell of sick and he’ll think that I always smell of sick which is gross. I also can’t keep my hands still, which has resulted in me dropping a good load of pastries and having to chuck them in the bin. Right now, my left hand’s violently tugging at the strap of my apron. I quickly drop it to my side before anyone thinks that I’m trying to strangle myself. Except now I’m clumsily untying and retying my apron behind my back. I slam my hands on the counter, where hopefully I can keep an eye on them if I don’t look up. Hope no one’s looking my way right now. To avoid looking at the tables, I sneak another glance at the clock. How is it only seven to five?

Eight minutes later, the lady  _ finally _ leaves after taking an age to finish her rosemary scone. I flip the sign on the door and count the money in the cash register. Did all right today. Then, I wash my hands and take anything we didn’t sell out back. Everyone else is in the staff room, putting on coats and picking up the rubbish to take to the dump.

“You sure you’re alright to close up tonight, Simon?”

“Yeah. Fine.”

“Alright, see ya tomorrow.”

“Yeah, bye. See you tomorrow.”

It’s spookily quiet when it’s just me, so I grab a broom from the cupboard just to double-check that the floor’s properly clean. I saw someone do it earlier, but right now I’ll do anything to keep myself from thinking about what’s going to happen in – I check the clock – ten minutes! I keep checking outside, just in case he’s early. No one. What if he doesn’t come at all? What if he thought I was weird for calling him soulmate? Or for suggesting that we meet after hours at my place of work rather than some swanky restaurant or the cinema or something?

A knock at the window interrupts me. I jerk my head up to see Baz waving at me, face flushed. He  _ is  _ early. Oops. I must’ve locked the door automatically. I rush over and undo the lock, his eyes meeting mine. It’s like that bit in Friends where Rachel lets Ross back into the café so they can kiss...

I tug open the door and Baz smiles at me, his breathing a little quick. Is he nervous or did he run here? His eyes are bright and his hair is a little damp from the rain.

He raises an eyebrow. “May I come in?”

“Oh. Yeah. O-of course!” I step aside. “Welcome!” I’m doing jazz hands. Why am I doing jazz hands?

He drapes his coat on the back of a chair. “Thank you,” he laughs, sitting down.

I join him at the table, putting my hands on it to stop them doing anything stupid like touching my face or his even though I really, really want to.

“So,” he says. “Tell me about yourself.”

  
  


**BAZ**

Tell me about yourself? What is this, an interview?

“I’m nineteen,” he replies. “I live with my friend Penny. We went to secondary and college together and now she’s studying biochem up at UCL. I’ve been working here about a year now. Uni’s not for me. I got the job just to earn a bit of cash but I found that I really liked it so I’ve just stuck with it.” He shrugs. “What about you?”

“I live alone. It’s alright. I prefer it that way.” I moved out as soon as I could. I wanted to get my own place, make my own way. I just assumed that at some point I’d get a flatmate or something, but I never got round to it. I always found that I was most comfortable when it was just me anyway. Even when I have friends over, I always feel a sense of relief when they leave and it’s just me again. Wow, that sounded sad though. He’s going to think that I’m some kind of hermit.

“I have family pretty close to here and they visit quite a lot. I’m working part-time at the stockbrokers up the road, getting people coffee and filing paperwork and stuff.” Christ, now I sound boring. “The rest of the time, I’m a student.”

"At uni? What you studying?”

“English literature.”

There’s a pause. He starts fidgeting, clasping and unclasping his hands, tapping the table.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“You’re.” He clears his throat. “Y-you’re not what I was expecting.”

Oh God. “I’m not?”

“N-no. I-.” He closes his eyes, takes a breath. Then another. His hands have gone crazy, fingers knotting and unknotting, knuckles occasionally knocking against the table. Then he opens his eyes and says, “I thought you were gonna be a girl.”

  
  


**SIMON**

There we go. It’s out there now. The words hang between us, the air restless with my confession, my  _ confusion. _ Except there seems to be this kind of stillness around him. Is he one of those people who goes super still and quiet when they’re angry? His heart’s still red, like mine, but it’s tricky to tell what else is lying beneath that.

“Okay,” he whispers; he doesn’t sound mad.

My hands still.

“O-okay?” I blink at him.

He lays one of his hands palm-up on the table between us. A question. Or a promise? “That’s okay. It’s okay to be confused, to be frustrated or scared. I’m right here with you.”

I breathe a sigh of relief and reach across the table to place my hand on top of his. His fingers are cool as they curl around mine, yet seem to shoot sparks of fire up my arm as he doesn’t just touch my hand, but  _ holds  _ it.

Oh, wow. A part of me is connected to a part of him and that’s more powerful than I ever even imagined. The storm that was beginning to rage inside me calms within his stillness. His hand keeps me grounded and stops my stupid head from wandering too far. I guess that’s what this is, really. Us balancing each other out. Each second that I’m with him, we’re learning more about each other. How we look and feel and move. We’re learning about what this is and what this means for each of us. It’s weird, but already he seems to just  _ get _ me. He knows what I want, what I need. That right now, all I need is just for him to give me a chance to exist alongside him.

“I’m here,” he says again.

And isn’t that just wonderful?


	3. The Kiss

BAZ

I feel as if I’ll never tire of Simon’s squinty smile. I don’t know if it’s conscious or not, but he keeps giving me these looks and squeezing my hand. Like he wants to remind me that he’s glad I’m here. Is this what a soulmate is? Is it feeling like you’re the most special person in the world just for sharing a part of another’s heart? Is it wanting to make the person across the table, across the room feel so amazing and special but feeling like no matter how many times you tell them it will never be enough? Is love falling hopelessly, helplessly down and knowing there will be someone there to catch you? Is it eyes meeting, gentle touches and leaning on one another? I don’t know. Neither of us knows. This whole thing is huge and scary and overwhelming but Simon is holding my hand and looking at me and seeing me.

All this is just while I tell him about what happened at work today. It’s incredible, really. The difference between what stays inside the head and what goes out into the world. If Simon could hear my thoughts now, I wonder, would he run for the hills?

Or would he kiss me?

The thought hits me with a jolt and I miss what he just said. He's looking at me expectantly.

"I'm sorry?" I swallow.

He goes a deep red (his face and his heart). "I-I asked if you always knew that I would be… y-y'know… a bloke?"

I sigh.

"I'm sensing there's a story here," he smiles. Again. Does he have any idea that that tiny shift in his face causes Earthquakes inside me? Okay, reeling back on the drama again.

"I first suspected around the beginning of secondary school. Around girls my heart would stay pink. It was steady, you know? But around boys…"

I tremble slightly at the memory.

"It couldn't stay still. It would go yellow, purple, blue and the colours would be constantly changing and strong. Of course, everyone could see and started picking up on it."

I remember all the hands, constantly pointing to my chest as if what I showed was all I felt. Meanwhile, all I wanted was some time alone with it; to try to work everything out.

"Obviously, there was no hiding it so I just went with it,” I continue because I want Simon to know me — all of me. “I was the only out person in my school, so I felt quite alone for a while. It was rough at first, but I guess people just got used to it."

I feel his warm hand squeeze mine. It's the sun chasing away the clouds in my head as he whispers, "I'm here now."

My words spoken back to me reminds me that this is a two-way thing. He's got me too. Just a moment ago, he was telling me that he had no idea that I’d be another boy. Yet here he is, supporting and comforting me with my own worries. Is this what a soulmate is?

He smiles again. Christ. "You're brave, you know?"

"You too," I tell him and I mean it. "No matter where you are on your journey, the fact that you're on it makes you incredible and special anyway."

He stands, not letting go of my hand and walks around to my side of the table. His eyes are trying to tell me something.

SIMON

It’s all starting to make sense. It shouldn’t, but it does. The way that I’m able to be still around him; the way that my hands don’t claw at my own skin at the thought of being close to him; the way that I don’t want to stop looking at him or holding him, ever. None of this is at all how I imagined, especially him. I probably shouldn’t have expected it to be, I guess. I am not all-knowing.

Except.

I imagined this feeling. I imagined being overjoyed at finding them. I imagined wanting them. Perhaps I always knew after all.

I look at Baz now, too afraid to say the words that are crashing through my head, sweeping away my thoughts and leaving only longing.

Please. Let me get closer. I want to feel you against me. I want your arms around me and your mouth on mine. I want to know every inch of you so that I can love it all. I want your heartbeat in my mouth and your hair on my forehead. See me and understand. Please.

I see the moment it clicks. His eyes don't leave mine. I don't think he even blinks. I see them close as he leans towards me and I start to move towards him.

I've never done this before. I've read and thought and dreamed about it and I always thought it would be scary.

But it's Baz.

He's here and we're doing this together.

The moment his lips touch mine, featherlight at first, my eyes slide shut so it's just him. The only sound is our two red hearts beating in time. I feel them everywhere: in my mouth, which is on his; in my hand, which is in his and in my chest, which is against his. I can't tell who's pulse is whose. I guess it doesn't matter anymore.

It's all ours now.

BAZ

My arm slides around his waist, pushing myself closer. He pushes back and his hand slides up the side of my face into my hair. The gentle pressure of it sends me reeling and I gasp against his mouth.

This is it.

The push and pull of this kiss, the dancing rhythm of it as our chests rise and fall. The little sounds I manage to coax from him as he cups my face. The tenderness and fireceness the sweeps me up and shatters me as he pieces me back together with painstaking patience.

It's the look he gives me when I lead him out the door that I entered as a stranger, knowing that wherever we're going, it'll be home because we'll both be there.

That's who my soulmate is. A person who is always with me in my heart, like I'm carrying them in my pocket. Someone who balances me, who will sit beside me and hold my hand when I have nothing to say. Who will simply exist next to me, breathing the same air.

It's a boy with blue eyes and freckles and hair that looks like curling flames who stammers when he's nervous and squints when he smiles.

A boy with a huge, red, beating heart.

A boy named Simon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The third and final chapter! Thanks for reading! 🐟


End file.
